Life is like a bag of pistachios. Often times as you dive through your bag there won’t be any complications and you’ll effortlessly pry open the shell and eat the delectable pistachios. Every now and then you’ll get a pistachio with a tiny hole that can be somewhat strenuous to open. You decide to disregard this pistachio and reach down into the bag for easier pistachios. Other times you’ll open a shell and there won’t be a pistachio inside. You’ve taken the passage of least resistance, and now that all the easy pistachios are gone, you are forced to pry open those tedious pistachios you put aside earlier. You crack your nail and inevitably smash the pistachio with your fist, which slightly hurts, so you decide that there is a better method to open up these hard-shelled pistachios. You’re at one with the closed off pistachio and can’t differentiate between your nail and the pistachio shell and inevitably it comes undone. You’ve worked hard for your pistachio and are finally able to in-joy. You get to the bottom of the bag and decide to scoop up the salty, delicious remnants of the deceased pistachios, lick your fingers, and pay homage to all the pistachios and what they died for. You practice gratitude by honoring the pistachios.